Deathstalker Rebellion (27 page)

“You’ll find something to keep yourself busy. You swore a blood oath, remember, on your name and honor, to avenge Jenny Psycho and what was done to her, to put an end to Silo Nine and the system that produced it. Now the council has seen what you can do, they’ll give you more important work in the underground. If you ask them.”

“Maybe.” He pushed her gently away and looked searchingly into her eyes. “You do what you need to do, Evie.
That’s all that matters in the end. But I still wish they could have chosen someone else.”

“Everyone else was too important, too well connected, or too busy. The only use they had for me was my influence over my father and to keep you in line. My father and I … have become estranged. And I promised the council you wouldn’t be a problem. Don’t make a liar out of me. They chose me because I have proven diplomatic skills, and because I’m entirely expendable. I was the perfect candidate.”

“We seem fated to be kept apart,” said Finlay. “Someday, when all this is over, maybe we’ll be able to have a simple, everyday life together, like everyone else. I’d like that.”

“Yes,” said Evangeline. “So would I.”

There was a sudden commotion behind them as everyone turned to look at someone who’d just entered the chamber. An excited babble began as the crowd recognized who it was. There was cheering and applause, and a name ran through the crowd, growing louder and louder, from a chant to a roar to a battle cry.
Jenny Psycho! Jenny Psycho! Jenny Psycho!”

“Oh, hell,” said Finlay. “Just what we need. More complications.”

Jenny Psycho, who used to be called Diana Vertue, but had mostly forgotten that, was short and blond with a pale face dominated by sharp blue eyes. She had a large mouth and a smile that showed more teeth than humor. Once she’d been just another low-level esper, like so many others, but then the underground had planted her in the notorious esper prison Silo Nine to be their agent. The uber-esper Mater Mundi had manifested through her to blow the place apart. Jenny had been touched by greatness, transformed by the Mater Mundi’s fleeting presence, and since her escape from Wormboy Hell, she’d become a new, major force in the underground. She’d taken the code name for her own and entered esper politics with a vengeance. Wherever she went, a small crowd of fanatical followers went with her, and they were with her now, scowling at anyone who dared to get too close. Finlay sometimes wondered whether she was a political force or a religious icon. Perhaps she wasn’t sure herself. Certainly her popularity had been growing in leaps and bounds of late. It must have if someone as disinterested as Finlay had noticed it.

Having made one of her usual unexpected and highly dramatic entrances, Jenny Psycho pressed forward and the
crowd opened up before her, as though pushed back by the sheer force of her personality. She’d become one of the most powerful espers the underground had ever known, and you could feel it in her presence. It all but crackled on the air around her, a palpable force that was part charisma and part enigma. A rabble-rouser, a cunning politician, and a tireless warrior for esper rights and wrongs, she was respected, worshiped, and adored by the many, and watched very carefully by the esper leaders.

She was also just a little crazy, but people made allowances. No one expected saints to be normal. She had been touched by Our Mother Of All Souls, and with the Mater Mundi currently quiet and unavailable, people were willing to settle for the next best thing. She stopped at the front of the crowd before the esper leaders and smiled unpleasantly, as though she could see past the images they projected to the real people beneath. Who knew? Maybe she could. Evangeline leaned in close beside Finlay.

“If I’d known she was going to turn out such a pain in the ass, I’d have thought twice about springing her from Silo Nine.”

Finlay shrugged. “She preaches direct action, and that’s a popular stance to take these days. And she was a focus for the Mater Mundi.”

“So were you and I, and we’re no crazier now than we were before. Though admittedly, it’s hard to tell in your case.”

Finlay smiled despite himself and made himself concentrate on Jenny Psycho as she began speaking. She had a harsh, unattractive voice. She’d damaged her vocal cords screaming in Wormboy Hell. It didn’t matter. When she spoke, you had to listen. You had to.

“I’m back again, people. Make the most of me while I’m here. The Empire threw me into Silo Nine and put a worm in my head to control me, but with the Mater Mundi’s help I broke out. You can break out, too. Work with me, and we can all become more than we are. No one can compel me now; not even the worm they left in my head. The council said taking it out would kill me, but I don’t believe that anymore. Watch. And learn.”

She pushed her long golden hair back behind her ears, so that her face could be clearly seen. She put a hand to her forehead and frowned, as though listening or concentrating.
Her left temple bulged outward suddenly, and the skin broke, splitting apart. Blood ran down Jenny’s face, but she ignored it. There was a sharp, cracking sound, and the bone of her skull broke apart at the left temple. Something small and gray and bloody crawled out of the crack, and fell into Jenny’s waiting hand. It pulsed and twitched feebly, a genetically engineered horror that existed only to imprison and torture captive minds. Jenny closed her hand around the worm and crushed it with one swift gesture. Blood and gray pulp oozed through her fingers. Jenny opened her hand and let what was left fall to the ground.

The crowd went mad, cheering and applauding and stamping their feet. Jenny Psycho began to speak again, but Finlay wasn’t listening. He appreciated the theater of what she’d done, but distrusted her message. The call to direct action was all very well and fine—he’d raised it himself on more than one occasion—but there was nothing of strategy or planning in Jenny’s call. All the underground had to do was trust in her and the Mater Mundi, and all would be well. And the crowd believed that because they wanted to. She promised strength and revenge and glory, and everything else the beaten down craved so desperately. Finlay looked out over the cheering crowd and wasn’t impressed.

Drowning men will clutch at any straw.

Lionstone XIV, that most revered and feared Empress of a thousand worlds and more, was holding Court once again, and everyone that mattered, or thought they might, made haste to attend her. The Court itself was an arctic waste, this time, as real as holographic projections, strategically placed props, and temperature controls could make it. The Empress redressed her Court constantly, to reflect her whims and changing moods, or just to give her courtiers a bad time. Veteran Court attendees claimed to be able to divine much of Lionstone’s mood from studying each new Court, but even when the news was bad, people went anyway. You had to, if you wanted your voice to be heard. Besides, if you stayed away too often, Lionstone might take that as an insult. And the people she sent to drag you there to hear her displeasure would not be polite about it.

The Court itself was a single vast chamber somewhere within the Imperial Palace, set within a massive steel bunker deep below the surface of Golgotha. No one knew precisely how big the chamber was, for security reasons, but so far it had always proven big enough to hold whatever worlds or conditions Lionstone chose to re-create. Unfortunately, it also reflected her sense of humor, which could be pretty basic on occasion. Courtiers knew better than to sit down on anything, no matter how apparently comfortable, and approached the luxurious food and wine provided as a form of Russian roulette.

It was a long way down to the Court. People made jokes about descending into hell, but not very loudly.

Captain Silence, Investigator Frost, and Security Officer Stelmach stood together in the midst of a great crowd of courtiers, staring out over a bleak arctic waste that stretched off into the distance for as far as the eye could see. The snow was a good foot deep on the ground and more fell in
heavy wet flakes from the brooding gray sky above. A thin mist pearled the air, thickening briefly here and there into impenetrable walls. It was bitter cold, searing exposed flesh and the lungs of those who breathed too deeply, and Silence turned up the heating elements in his uniform another notch. Frost didn’t bother It took more than mere cold to discommode an Investigator. She’d been trained to withstand far worse. Stelmach already had his heating elements running on full, but shivered anyway. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting the Empress.

Whatever else might prove to be an illusion, the cold was real enough; sharp enough to kill an unprotected man eventually. And there were bound to be other more subtle dangers concealed at random throughout the Court. The Empress never found a joke really funny unless someone could get hurt. The falling snow was especially real. It collected wetly on heads and clothes and seemed to be getting heavier. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to re-create this environment, which suggested the appropriate life-forms were out there somewhere, too. Especially, the predators. Lionstone had a special fondness for the practical joke.

The gathered courtiers murmured among themselves for a while, and then some brave soul stepped forward, and everyone else trudged through the snow after him. Few had come prepared for arctic conditions, and the bright flashing silks of current fashion did little to protect their wearers. A few grumbled and blasphemed under their breath, but most just toughed it out. You never knew who might be listening. Silence stepped out along with the crowd, still somewhat surprised that he wasn’t weighed down with chains like his last visit to Court. After screwing up so completely on the Wolfling World, he’d fully expected to find himself facing an execution warrant the moment he stepped off his ship, but apparently his victory over the attacking alien ship had bought him some extra time, if nothing else.

Frost strode along at his side as though the snow wasn’t there, seemingly unconcerned by anything. There wasn’t much that bothered Investigators, if only because they tended to kill things that did. V. Stelmach trudged along in her shadow, using her tall form as a windbreak. His arms were wrapped tightly across his chest, and he was pouting sulkily. Stelmach was not happy. But, then, he rarely was.
Being a Security Officer did that to you. Especially, if your name was Valiant.

The crowd labored on through the packed snow, slipping and lurching and fighting for balance. The mists were growing thicker, obscuring the distance. Silence watched his breath steam on the air before him and wondered what lay ahead. If he had any sense he’d be running for his life rather than presenting his head to the Empress so she could cut it off personally, but he knew his duty. The Service was his life, and if it had been a hard life for the most part, he still wouldn’t have chosen any other. As a Captain in the Imperial Navy he was part of something greater, in the service of humanity, and he would give his life for it, should that prove necessary. Lionstone might be a vindictive psychotic with a particularly unfortunate sense of humor, but she was his Empress, and he had sworn upon his life and his honor to serve her all his days. He looked about him at the subzero world and smiled slightly. Typical of Lionstone. Here he was, walking to his execution like a good soldier, and she even had to make that difficult.

He looked around sharply as he sensed as much as heard something large moving up ahead, hidden in the mists. Murmurs moved through the crowd as others heard or saw it. Silence’s eyes narrowed, and his hand fell to his hip, where his gun should have been. Glimpses of something large moved through the mist, seen and gone in a moment. It moved ponderously, crunching loudly through the snow, and then suddenly raised a shaggy head and roared defiantly. The harsh sound echoed eerily on the quiet, and then the mists came down again, and the creature was lost to sight. The courtiers huddled together for comfort but kept moving. The Empress was waiting.

Silence’s hands itched for a weapon, but gun and sword were both denied him. No subject, no matter how trusted or exalted, was allowed to bear weapons before his Empress, without a special dispensation. Which meant everyone around Silence was unarmed, too. Easy pickings if the creature decided it was hungry. The Empress would have to be crazy to risk endangering the Families with a real threat, but no one would have bet against it. Silence scowled, his hands curling into fists. A dim shape roared again, but the sound was farther off. It was moving away. The crowd breathed a general sigh of relief, and the pace picked up again. There
was always the chance the shape was just another hologram, but no one was willing to bet on that, either. Silence decided he was going to stick really close to the Investigator. Even unarmed, Frost was death on two legs, and he’d back her against anything Lionstone might have imported. Not that he’d ever tell Frost that. She was bigheaded enough as it was.

More shapes loomed up out of the mists ahead. At first Silence thought they were security guards waiting to escort the courtiers to the Iron Throne, but as he drew closer he could see they were just snowmen. A line of human shapes, made from packed snow, with cheerful scarves around their necks, coals for eyes, and a smile drawn on. They might have been charming if they hadn’t all been depicted dying in different, innovative ways. One had been impaled on a lance. Another held its severed head in its hands. Beside it, a third form had been dismembered, its snow limbs lying scattered around its body. Silence started to walk past them, then hesitated as he realized Frost had stopped. The Investigator stood scowling at the snowmen, one hand patting her hip where her sword should have been. Stelmach stood shivering beside her, not particularly interested in the snowmen, but unwilling to move on without the protection of the only more or less friendly faces he knew. Silence moved in beside Frost.